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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177614">Being Alive</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLibby/pseuds/LadyLibby'>LadyLibby</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marriage Story (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Acting, Dealing with insecurity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Love, More tags to be added, Mutual Pining, Past!Nicole/Charlie, Romance, Theater - Freeform, mentions of divorce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:22:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLibby/pseuds/LadyLibby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After moving to L.A. straight after college, Y/N L/N has abandoned her dreams of becoming an actress, instead pursuing a career as a writer for stage, screen, and the page. In the midst of her first novel, she gets a call from her agent about some hotshot Broadway director buying the rights to her first (and utterly unknown) play. It doesn’t take long for her to be more involved in the production than she’d ever expected…</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Full disclosure here, I have not written past this point. I have a rough outline of where I want this to go, but my continuing this story has a lot to do with what kind of response I get from my readers…so please let me know if you want more. Thanks loves!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sitting down to write anything of worth is simply impossible without a cup of tea at hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least, that’s what Y/N told herself as she bobbed the teabag up and down in the steaming water. Surely the only reason she’d felt stuck all day, staring at the blinking line of a cursor on her screen was a lack of tea. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She ran a hand through her hair, shaking out the freshly washed, half-brushed locks as she waited for the tea to steep. Morning light spread across the floor, fractured by window panes and table edges in the quiet apartment. With her roommate Hazel out at an audition, Y/N was free to fling all the windows open and let in the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An idea nudged the back of her brain–just the barest hint of a scene. Y/N bobbed the teabag one more time before grabbing the mug and heading back to her desk. The scene grew, taking shape with description and dialogue as Y/N’s fingers tapped against the keyboard. By the time her mug was empty, she’d managed to get a few pages down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her phone began to ring, buzzing muffled against the blanket on her bed. Sawyer’s name and photo flashed across the screen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s on your calendar today?” He asked before the word hello had even passed her lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The usual. I just finished a couple pages, I have work in about an hour and then my shift ends at three. What’s up?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So your afternoon is free?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes…” She said, grabbing her mug and heading back to the kitchen. “I thought our meeting was on Friday. I definitely don’t have enough of the draft ready yet–” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no. Not with me.” He said, and she could picture him wrinkling his brow as he said it, prematurely deepening the lines on his face. “Have you heard of Charlie Barber?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t say that I have, no. Should I?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s a director. His production of, um, Elektra I think, went to Broadway for a while a couple of years ago. Won him the Macarthur Genius Grant.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heard faint music and voices on the other line. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Impressive,” Y/N nodded filling the kettle with water to boil. “But—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s it got to do with you?” Sawyer finished, and then more faintly: “Large nonfat latte, two shots. Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sawyer.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m here, sorry.” His voice got clearer as he shifted the phone. “He’s working in L.A. now and he just bought the rights to your play.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The one-act?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, he wants to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seasons.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N stepped backwards until she hit the kitchen counter, leaning against it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The producer contacted me about the rights and when I mentioned you were local she put me in touch with Charlie. He wants to meet you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something about getting your perspective on the story to enhance his vision...I don’t know. I’m a literary agent, I don’t speak theater.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But why is he doing the play?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sawyer sighed. “It’s a good fucking play, Y/N. Just take the meeting, okay? Worst case scenario you don’t like him, decide not to see it and end up with some royalties padding your monthly paycheck.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N smoothed an invisible scratch on the wooden countertop. She took a deep breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. Where am I meeting him?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was something obligatory and comforting about the atmosphere of a coffee shop – the hiss of steam from an espresso machine, the hum of fifteen different but simultaneous conversations, and the quiet guitar of an undiscovered musician playing over the speakers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N took a seat at an empty table. A young man at the table next to her typed furiously on a laptop, a pair of big headphones covering his ears. Y/N envied his focus, but hoped that whatever he was working on would work out, whether it was a screenplay or a novel or a strongly-worded email. Her gaze tracked across the room. She observed the group of giggling teenagers with colorful sunglasses and cracked phone screens. Two older men in suits sat across from each other, talking with a stack of documents on the table between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You like to people-watch.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked up at the owner of the deep voice, craning her neck to meet deep brown eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s my favorite form of character study.” She stood up, holding out her hand. “Charlie Barber?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing usually brought Y/N eye to eye with most people, but Charlie still had almost half a foot on her. His grip was warm and firm as he shook her hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You must be Y/N. It’s great to finally meet you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie let go, patting his palms absently on his jeans. “I need a coffee. Do you want something to drink?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, yeah.” Y/N nodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The barista who took their order was an actress. All baristas in L.A. were actresses, but this one happened to have her audition side sticking out of the pocket of her apron. Y/N smiled at her as she ordered an iced chai, remembering all the time she’d spent pouring over scripts and hoping. She adjusted the strap of her bag, remembering the deep disappointment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No…?” The barista said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you an actress or something? I could have sworn I’ve seen your face before.” Y/N said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I uh, I did have a three episode arc on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Baby Mama.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She said, holding her head a little higher. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah! I loved you in that!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks!” The barista cooed, grinning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N opened her wallet to pay, but Charlie moved faster, handing the barista his card. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh! Thank you.” Y/N said, looking down at her shoes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My pleasure.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N stepped a few feet away to wait for her drink. She couldn’t help but stare a little while he made his own order. He was dressed casually, but he still looked neat with a soft blue button-up and jacket. His hair was dark and just long enough that it brushed against his collar.  He leaned towards the barista, giving her his full attention. When he moved to wait with Y/N, she was struck again by how tall he was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve never heard of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Baby Mama.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He said, “What’s it about?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N fidgeted with the strap of her bag. “I haven’t seen it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie raised his eyebrows in surprise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, um, I used to be an actress.” She laughed, “Just remembered how badly I wanted to be recognized for something...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her face felt warm, suddenly the recipient of his full attention. She wondered absently about the virtues of admitting you were a liar in front of someone you’d only just met when they called her order. Y/N occupied herself with balancing the full cup on her way to the table. Charlie followed with a mug of coffee, sitting in the seat across from her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” He said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So.” She said, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Seasons.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Charlie cleared his throat. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Seasons.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s a remarkable play.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Y/N took a sip of her tea. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, um,” He ran a hand through his hair. “Would you mind telling me a little more about the story? Where it came from, why you wrote it, that sort of thing. When I heard you were in L.A. I thought I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask you about it. I’d, um, I’d like it to be a production you would be proud of.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a very conscientious director. Usually the only thing that matters is whether the director is proud of the production.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled sheepishly, and Y/N noticed the freckles dotted across his face. “Well, it’s a very personal play. At least, that’s how I read it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was. It is.” She nodded. “I wrote in my senior year of college.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat back, as if she’d hit him. “Really?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed slightly. “Yes? Is that weird?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no. I just–when I read it I thought it must have been written by someone much older, looking back and then I saw you and I was surprised, but college…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In all fairness, I’m surprised that you’re surprised. I never thought it was all that, you know, amazing. My editor pushed me to publish it a few years later but I didn’t expect someone like you would ever read it, let alone like it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N looked out the window, unsure of what to do with the compliment. She turned back, clearing her throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, that was not the question you asked.” Y/N managed to meet his gaze again, resolving to calm down and handle the rest of the meeting like an adult. “I wrote it in college. I guess it’s autobiographical, but only in the sense that I felt like I was writing about me and the people around me. That day never actually happened. I, um, I did a lot of theater in high school and I’ve always read a lot and my favorite plays and books were the ones that felt genuine. Like the dialogue was how people really spoke. I knew I wanted to write like that. Have you read any Annie Baker?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like that. I read </span>
  <em>
    <span>Circle Mirror Transformation</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I knew that was what I wanted to do.” She smiled, remembering. “Anyway. I, um, I’ve always been someone who code-switches a lot depending on where I am and who I’m with, especially when I was younger. I was thinking about that a lot the winter of my last year in college. Lot’s of other stuff was happening with my life at the time, um, and I started writing as a way of figuring everything out. A play just felt like the right fit. I wrote it and then I left it on a shelf for a long time until my editor asked for some writing samples and...well, you know the rest.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie nodded, gaze unwavering from her face as he listened. He leaned forward, hands wrapped around his mug. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you tell me about Rose?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah! So obviously I want a lot of her to be what the director and the actress make of her. I tried to put hints in the way she talks and what we see her do on stage. She’s someone who works a lot from ideals and daydreams, and the journey for her – I think – is her confrontation with reality, but particularly the reality of herself. It’s a play about someone who stops trying to change to fit the ever-changing world, but much becomes solid in her identity, even if everything else falls apart. Ultimately what makes Rose who she is—what makes them all who they are—is what happens off-stage. What she says in the argument, whether or not her boss yells at her, if her mother hugs her when they see each other. None of those questions are answered directly but they’re so important to who these people are.” She paused, “Did that make any sense at all?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie stared at her as if she’d flicked a light switch on inside his head. He blinked, glancing down at the table before running a hand through his hair. He cleared his throat, finally registering her question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That made perfect sense.” He chuckled. “It’s funny, I–I directed a play about five years ago and I was trying to say exactly that to my–to an actress and I couldn’t manage to say it in a way she understood. I wish you’d been there to set me straight.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N laughed, “I don’t think I was quite </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> eloquent. But thank you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They smiled at each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now you tell me something.” She said, taking a sip of her tea. “Why this play that no one’s heard of? I figured a MacArthur Genius who went Broadway would be looking for something a little more...” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mainstream?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was going to say financially secure, but yeah.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie laughed. “Back in New York one of my favorite things to do is visit tiny bookstores. You know, the ones that are not at all organized and covered in dust–” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And are romanticized for all the reasons we should be disgusted?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly.” Charlie said. “I grab as many plays as I’ve never heard of before and read the first fifteen pages or so. If I like it, I buy it and consider it for a project with other scripts I’m sent or are written by playwrights I’ve worked with.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s hard to find those kinds of places around here.” Y/N sighed.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I found your play in New York, actually. My son liked the title, so I picked it up. I knew I wanted to direct it after the first page.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your son’s name?” Y/N took a subtle look at his left hand, finding it bare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Henry.” Charlie said. “He’s ten. I moved out here to be closer to him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N nodded. “There’s a really nice tiny bookstore out in Palmetto. When I moved out here I was really homesick and finding that place was...it helped a lot.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re from the East coast?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“New England.” She touched her chest. “That will always be my home.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How long have you been in Los Angeles?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A little over five years. I settled here after college. The acting thing…” Y/N bit her lip. “That died pretty quickly.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why? If your conversation with that barista is anything to go by, you’re very good.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N laughed. “Not according to about half the casting directors in Hollywood. Besides, I like writing so much more. Much less fraught with issues of gender and beauty and self-worth.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you written any other plays?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t, actually.” She said, “I’m working on a novel, and my screenplay is going through my editor’s ruthless slashing at the moment. And you? Caught the filmmaking bug yet?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed, shaking his head. “Hardly. That’s my ex-wife’s domain.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie waved his hand vaguely. “Nicole directed a few episodes of her TV show. Having met a few, I don’t think I could stand the producers long enough to try that side of directing. No, I plan to stay holed up in my dark theater.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m inclined to agree with you, Charlie.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The conversation flowed, bending and falling like a river as they passed through many different territories. They laughed and shared and smiled for hours, until someone made the mistake of checking the time and they reluctantly said their goodbyes, promising to see each other again on the opening night of the play. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Back at her apartment, Y/N lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She closed her eyes, mentally kicking herself for not asking to meet again sooner. Even now she couldn’t think of a convincing reason why they should see each other again, she just knew she wanted to. And now she wouldn’t. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her surprise was palpable, a week later, when her phone rang. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Y/N, this is Charlie. Charlie Barber. You remember, from–” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How could I forget? I’m, uh, I’m just surprised.” She said, “How are you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckled. “Good–I’m good. You?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Also good.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence. Y/N bit her lip, pacing around her room. She heard the faint noises of other people talking in the background. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, um, sorry I–you’re probably wondering why I called.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A little bit.” She said, “It’s nice to hear your voice again anyway.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You too.” Charlie cleared his throat. “I’d like you to audition.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N froze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Audition?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want you to audition for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seasons.</span>
  </em>
  <span> For Rose.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Charlie, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She sat on the edge of her bed, holding the phone tight to her ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?” He challenged her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I gave up on acting...I’m not that good. I don’t want you to do this out of courtesy, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> show–” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But it’s also yours, Y/N. Hear me out.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“After we talked last week, it was abundantly clear to me that no one understands this play or this character like you do. We started auditions yesterday and I...I can’t shake the feeling that this just isn’t right without you. I want this show to be the best it can be, and I think that can only be done with you as a part of it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Charlie…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not offering you the part yet. I just want you to audition. If you still think it’s not right, I’ll drop it.” He promised. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N flopped backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. She squeezed her eyes shut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Okay, I’ll audition.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke, “Tomorrow at three, the Harte Theater downtown.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should I do a specific monologue? Or a scene?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought for a moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The soliloquy at the end of the first act.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N took a deep breath. “Okay.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N lowered the script, mind racing with everything she’d done wrong: weak gestures, bungled line readings, and so many more little mistakes. Charlie finished writing something down on a pad of paper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” He nodded, very much playing his own role as the professional director. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll be in touch.” The producer, Leanne, said with a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N swallowed hard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” She nodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie said something to Leanne Y/N couldn’t hear as she gathered her bag. He stood up, catching her before she left the stage entirely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, can you stick around for a bit? Leanne and I are going to talk for a minute, but I don’t want to make you wait a whole day if you can stay now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, yeah. I can–I’ll be in the lobby.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dropped his director’s mask for a moment, smiling. “Great. It’ll just be a minute.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the lobby, it felt much longer than a minute. Y/N paced the length of the room, past the box office and posters from previous productions before turning around and doing it again. He was going to let her down gently, she was sure. But he smiled so brightly...he was going to offer her the part. No he wasn’t. Why would he? She wasn’t a good actress. She’d quit for a reason. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is ridiculous.” Y/N muttered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was considering grabbing her bag and escaping before he came back when the theater door opened and his tall frame appeared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Y/N managed a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I–we want to offer you the part. It’s, uh, it’s a commitment in terms of rehearsing and then we’re looking at maybe a three or four week run. But, um, I think you’re the right fit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Charlie bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. “What do you think?” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Surprise! I'm back!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You did what?” Sawyer nearly choked on his coffee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I accepted the part.” Y/N said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You–” Sawyer blinked, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re doing the play. You’re acting in the play. Your play. You’re–” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doing the play. Yes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you quit acting.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know…” Y/N picked at the corner of the piece of paper on Sawyer’s desk, decorated all over with Sawyer’s red pen marks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you...are you going back to it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” Y/N clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m doing this play. After that...I don’t know. I’m still writing my book. That’s not going to change.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you’re overestimating the amount of time you’ll have, Y/N.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The play is decent money since I’m getting the royalty check and I’m in it. I can scale back my hours at the shop.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you understand that as much as I want to give you more leeway, it’ll look–” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like nepotism, I know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I get enough flack about you and me, you know, as it is, so I can’t...I can’t give you special treatment.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I don’t want you to.” Y/N said. “I’ll hit deadlines. I’ll make time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sawyer laughed, leaning back a little in his chair. “If you can figure out how to </span>
  <em>
    <span>make</span>
  </em>
  <span> time, please let me know. I could use some of that in my life.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N smiled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sawyer took another big swig of his coffee. “Okay, let’s talk about these pages.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jeremy. He/Him. I’m twenty-eight. From Sacramento originally and currently living here in L.A. to pursue film. Uh, mostly. Um…” Jeremy ran a hand through his gravity-defying coiffed hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Any story at all.” Charlie prompted with a gentle smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.” Jeremy nodded, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. “So when I was in college my theater group went out to Edinburgh for the Fringe. We all staying in a block of flats from the University and the rooms had these tiny–like two by three–showers. And, uh, one morning I heard this really loud thumping from next door. My friend Brody was in that room. So I went over to check on him and he came out in a towel and told me he’d fallen in the shower. And I was like ‘How is that even possible? Those things are so small.’ He had fallen, but it was like a, like, um a pinball, you know against the walls– like ‘thump, thump–thump.’” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The group chuckled at the image. Jeremy smiled, slouching back down a little again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Paula?” Charlie said, looking to the older woman next to Jeremy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paula swept her hair over her shoulder in an exaggerated, comical motion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh good, I’ve got a really good one!” She spoke with a big smile and an even bigger New Jersey accent. “Paula. She/Her. Born and raised in New Jersey, baby. I came out here a few years ago to be closer to my daughter when my grandson was born. He’s too big now for me to be babysitting all the time and I’m not built for retirement so I decided to start acting. Anyway. So my story. Okay, so are you all too young to know who Richard Abbey was?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack, with his even greyer hair and smile lines chuckled, nodding his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Darling Street</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a classic movie, Paula. Of course I know who Richard Abbey is!” Leah exclaimed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N tried not to wince at the high pitch of her voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Okay, so it’s the ‘70s. I’m young and hot–well, hotter than I am now–” Paula winked. “And I get invited to this party in the city. Me and my best friend Sheila. She was a sexpot if you’ve ever seen one. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>, we get to the party and it’s already packed, people dancing and probably doing a lot of drugs of all kinds. Now, I drank but my advice to you younger people is to avoid all that other shit. And I’ll get to why in a minute.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N bit her lip, listening to the story in amazement. She hazarded a glance in Charlie’s direction. He met her gaze, raising his eyebrows and trying to keep his smile at bay. She giggled slightly, turning her attention back to Paula. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then who comes over to me but </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richard Abbey</span>
  </em>
  <span>, completely out of his head on something–probably LSD and asks me to dance with him. So of course I did. I mean, his face back then was just delicious. Anyway long story short he ended up passing out on me in the taxi and I only ever saw him again in the movies, but that was fine with me. He snored something awful.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Jack pressed his lips together, soft British lilt shaking with laughter. “Not quite sure how to follow that one. I’m Jack. He/Him or They/Them. I was born in Wessex and I lived in London and did theater there for quite a while. I–is this a good story to tell? I suppose we’ll see.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cleared his throat before continuing. “I worked for a time as a Theater Educator and part of my duties included bringing in guest speakers and performers and that sort of thing to give the kids some extra perspective on art and the craft. And, uh, this would have been the early ‘80s, I heard of this amazing Swiss director and somehow I managed to convince him to come for a few weeks and work with us. Anyway he arrived and I went to pick him up at the airport and he had no idea what I looked like but I saw him with his suitcase sitting on a bench, looking terribly smart and elegant, and I went over and said hello. He said to me, and I’ll never forget, “I’m waiting for Jack Miller.” I’ll spare you the boring details after that, but uh, he and I have been married for twenty-five years now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s so lovely,” Y/N said, smiling softly. “I, um, I’m Y/N. She/Her. I’m twenty-seven. I’m from New England originally, but I moved here after college. Um, so in my second year of college I was feeling a little lost because I had made all these friends as a first year but by the second I realized that they weren’t actually my friends and everything felt like it was kind of falling apart for a while. But, um, I was taking this creative writing class kind of on a whim–I was a drama major–and the professor was a brilliant writer, but he couldn’t really teach it. Anyway, he had this TA named Sawyer. This first year grad student who thought he knew everything there was to know about books and writing and every time I handed something in, it would come back completely covered in red ink. The guy was </span>
  <em>
    <span>merciless</span>
  </em>
  <span>, did not have a single nice thing to say about my writing. I took it at first because he was making good points and I’d use them and try and improve, but after a while he started getting really finicky. Like tiny stuff that no one else would care about. After getting maybe three pieces like that back I lost it. I marched up to him and I argued and argued and argued and I was getting so into it that I didn’t realize he wasn’t saying anything back. He was just kind of smiling at me. So I stopped, confused, and was like “what’s wrong with you?” And he said, “You’ve got it. You’re a writer.” I brushed it off at the time and often I still don’t totally believe him, but that was – and I really mean this– that was the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But...you’re an actress? You’re part of the cast...” Leah flicked her hair over her shoulder, looking at Y/N with a quizzical expression. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I–I mean, I’m–” Y/N flushed, struggling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In this show–our show–she’s both.” Charlie cut in. “Writer and actress.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait–you wrote it?” Leah sounded almost offended. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N looked down at her lap. “Yeah…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that’s wonderful.” Jack intoned, pressing a reassuring hand to Y/N’s shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leah opened her mouth to ask another question, but Charlie cleared his throat. “Leah, it’s your turn now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From the moment Y/N first saw her, she knew Leah was an actress. Leah was the type of woman who exuded confidence, with flawless hair and makeup, carefully curated clothes. She smiled easily and kept her chest pushed out just enough to indicate that Leah knew what she wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>she knew how to get it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi. I’m Leah. I’m twenty-five and I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>an actress</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” She intoned the word like it was a silly nickname she’d been called as a child. “I’m from Beverly Hills. Um, when I was five my mom decided that it would be a good idea for me to start some </span>
  <em>
    <span>activities. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She signed me up for a kid’s soccer thing on the weekends and at the very first practice this other girl like, kicks the ball in my face! Like right in my nose. And so obviously I hit the ground, nose bleeding, I’m crying and begging my mom not to make me do soccer. And she was so freaked that she agreed and I started doing community theater instead. That year I played Gretel in </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Sound of Music.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And, um, well the rest is history, I guess.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sort of forced chuckle made its way around the circle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, great.” Charlie nodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be quick since this was mostly about getting to know all of you. I’m Charlie. He/Him. Thirty-six. I’m from New York, and I moved out here to be closer to my son Henry. He’s ten and, um, he actually picked this play. Sort of. We were in a dusty bookstore back in New York and he picked up a copy of this play and said ‘Look, Dad, this has a cool cover!’ So I opened it and started reading, and um, there’s not much more to the story than that. Let’s read this play, shall we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N caught Charlie’s gaze as the rest of the cast opened their scripts. He smiled at her, and mouthed </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m glad you’re here.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, hold.” Charlie called, getting up from his seat in the front row and approaching the front of the stage. “Your choices are working really well here, but I want to see what we can do about this blocking...Jack, can you cross down left of the chair at some point before ‘I know.’ and Paula, I want you to counter whatever he does. There should be at least  two feet between you at all times but you have to maintain it. Can we try that? Take it from Jack’s line...um, let’s go from ‘Listen to me.’” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen to me,” Jack said, making the cross. </span>
</p>
<p><span>Charlie leaned forward, watching intently as they ran through the scene. From slightly off-stage, Y/N couldn’t help but watch </span><em><span>him</span></em><span>. She understood now, exactly why he’d gone to Broadway. He was clearly deserving of every MacArthur Grant possible and yet he’d chosen to do her play. He’d chosen to </span><em><span>cast</span></em> <em><span>her</span></em><span> in this play. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N twisted her water bottle around and around in her hands, trying to quell the anxiety in her stomach. Even after a week and a half, she couldn’t escape the lingering sense of inferiority among the rest of the cast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to stay with Kathy for a while.” Paula said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N put down her water bottle and prepped her entrance, thinking through what Rose had just done–struggled with her key in the lock–and then moving to the entrance, opening the half-painted door with a stuttering motion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rosie!” Jack smiled tightly. “What are you–we weren’t–”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I just–” Y/N hovered by the door, taking a small . “I needed to, um, I wanted to tell you something.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All three relaxed a bit, dropping character. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You clearly prepared that entrance. It was great.” He smiled at her. “Just take a more decisive step towards them once you’re in. Okay, I want to go back a bit and nail down the blocking a bit more before her entrance. Jack, stop moving when she says ‘I’m going to stay with Kathy.’ Paula, don’t look at him when you tell him. Alright, let’s roll it back to where we were before...” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, let’s take it from the top one more time…but um,” Charlie tilted his head, considering how to properly express his vision. “Leah, can you think more about the given circumstances of this scene? I believe this is happening now, but I have no sense of what happened between the two of you that I didn’t see.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, absolutely.” Leah nodded, squaring her shoulders and pushing her chest out even further. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And Y/N, dig into the...the um,” He paused, searching for the right words. “Take no prisoners.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Y/N said softly, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whenever you’re ready.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leah crossed her arms, popping her hip out to the side. “What?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N closed the distance between them, getting in Leah’s face. “Nothing. That’s it. Nothing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leah put her palms on Y/N’s shoulders and pushed her backwards. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N, caught off guard by the gesture, faltered. She opened her mouth, but the line was gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Line.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Krista, the stage manager, spoke up from off-stage. “Exactly what I said.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N breathed, trying to stay in it. “Exactly–” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold.” Charlie cut in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N deflated. “I’m sorry, I know it, I just blanked out for a second.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, that’s not–don’t worry about it. Focus on keeping your momentum.” He waved his hand, turning to Leah. “I want you to make choices, but I don’t think I like going in the direction of anger. Do it again without the shove.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N approached again,  letting the words drop like chunks of ice. “Nothing. That’s it. Nothing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly what I said.” Y/N let out a breath of a laugh, “Nothing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re crazy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Y/N shrugged. “But at least I’m free.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>During breaktime, Y/N sat on the edge of the stage listening to a voicemail from Sawyer. She sent him a quick text back. Jeremy and Jack stood together by the prop table and they were engaged in a sweet, soft-spoken discussion about Brecht while Leah had cornered Charlie in the audience, talking through her character decisions at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey hon,” Paula said, sitting next to Y/N. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Paula. How’s it going?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, good.” She said. “This is the first play I’ve been for a bit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What else have you done?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, lots of musicals. Then some commercials. I’m usually one of those ladies who take some medicine and then go out and do a variety of outdoor activities.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve missed the theatrefolk.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I only like theatrefolk.” Krista interjected, coming to lean against the stage next to them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She inclined her head in Leah’s direction. “I don’t like </span>
  <em>
    <span>actors</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh I like you. You’ve got a mean streak.” Paula smiled. “Look at Charlie. Poor guy, he looks like a gentle giant she’s captured.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N covered her mouth. “I shouldn’t laugh. She’s just...very confident.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She shoved you! You don’t just do that without checking with your scene partner first.” Krista argued. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shhhh, he finally escaped.” Paula hissed, giggling as Charlie made his way over to them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” He looked at Y/N. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” She nodded, sliding down to the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie led her over towards the lobby, the raised seats of the audience providing a little privacy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” He asked, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Yeah, of course.” She said quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” He studied her. “You just seem a little...withdrawn.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I–” Y/N sighed. “Yeah, I–um...I’m just a little intimidated, I guess.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Intimidated?” He laughed. “Not by me, I hope.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, yeah.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He furrowed his brow. “Have I…? I didn’t mean–” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no. It’s not your fault. I’m just...you’re a really good director and I’m not–I don’t….um…” She trailed off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie straightened, as if a lightbulb had flicked on inside his head. “Are you free tomorrow evening?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, my shift at the cafe ends at four. After that, yeah. Why…?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could you come in for an evening rehearsal?” He asked. “We can work on your monologues, just the two of us. I don’t...This isn’t going to work if I make you uncomfortable.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Charlie you don’t make me uncomfortable. You–you make me nervous.” She said, dropping her gaze to the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t want to make you nervous.” He said. “What do you say? Low-pressure, just you and me. Like when we had coffee, except we do some theater instead.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.” Charlie smiled. “Okay, good. Tomorrow it is.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Don't ask me what the play is about because I have no clue :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm back! Thank you for sticking with me, despite the hiatus. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I keep thinking about the night I finished high school. Not the graduation, but the day I walked out of my last class. I remember music. I went home and I laid in my bed listening to this one album for hours and hours, over and over. I’d been invited to some of the parties, but I thought they’d be too loud and drunk and bright. It wasn’t a celebration for me. I still hear that music. I can...I can feel it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N let the silence stretch for a bit before exhaling and turning to Charlie. He studied her for a moment, chin resting against his hand. A smile tugged at his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re still nervous.” He observed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Y/N admitted, her face growing hot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay. I think...I think we should switch gears.” Charlie stood, clambering up to join her on stage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He headed towards the wings, gesturing for her to follow. Y/N followed him back and down past the dressing rooms and the shop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have a favorite play?” He asked, unlocking the door to the prop room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Y/N nodded. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Much Ado About Nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“An underrated classic.” Charlie smiled. “We definitely have a copy around here somewhere…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He flicked on the lights and they wandered past the piles of set pieces and props until they found an old bookshelf full of scripts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>Much Ado</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Charlie asked as they scanned the titles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not? It’s got great characters– Beatrice is like the original kick-ass female lead, and Benedick is a man who actually adjusts his behavior based on what’s right and what’s in his heart. It’s funny. And the </span>
  <em>
    <span>language</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Y/N pressed a hand over her chest. “‘I do love nothing so well as you, is that not strange’ is one of the greatest professions of love in anything.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie smiled softly, abandoning his own search to watch Y/N as she talked about it. Her eyes lit up and she couldn’t help but smile. It made his chest feel warm and full.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got it.” She said, pulling an old copy loose from the shelf. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there another one? Grab two.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They wove back through the maze of props to the back hallway. Charlie locked the door again and they headed back to the stage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you ever done it? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Much Ado</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I mean.” Charlie asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Once. My friend directed it as a summer show between my junior and senior years of high school. We did it outside in this little amphitheater like Shakespeare in the Park. It was one of the most fun experiences of my life.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who did you play?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beatrice.” Y/N bit her lip, eyes glazing over slightly with the memories. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I bet you were amazing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was okay.” She shrugged. “I was young though, so there are definitely things I’d do differently now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like what?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...I played it with too much contrast. I didn’t get that they’ve been in love with each other the whole time. I played it that she really did hate him and then fell in love with him during the play. But I’ve realized that’s not right. They loved each other from the moment they met, but they couldn’t figure out how to say it. If I did it again, I’d use that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie nodded, humming as he considered her words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I have one of those?” He gestured to the scripts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She handed one over, watching him with curiosity. He flipped through it, stopping here and there to scan a page or two before moving on. Finally, he turned back to the beginning and looked up at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s try something,” He walked over to stage right wing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie dragged a table on, leaving it downstage and slightly to the right. He put a chair on either side and then hopped off the stage to grab his copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seasons</span>
  </em>
  <span>, leaving it on the table as a prop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Act One, Scene One. After the soldiers entered…” Charlie scanned the page. “We’ll go from Benedick’s line, ‘If Signior Leonato be her father…’” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Improvise the blocking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie nodded, walking away from her to stand stage left. Y/N paused for a moment, thinking back to the character. She sat down in the chair furthest away from him, busying herself with looking through the script. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Scene.” Charlie said before straightening up and pushing his shoulders back in a more confident, swaggery stance. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N spoke without looking up, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick. Nobody marks you.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Charlie crossed to the other side of the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N snapped the script shut, staring up at him in defiance. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Is it possible that Disdain should die while she hath such meat food to feed it as Signior Benedick?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scoffed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Courtesy itself should convert to disdain if you come in her presence.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Y/N added. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Then is Courtesy a turncoat.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Charlie planted his hands on the table, leaning closer. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find it in my heart that I had a hard heart, for truly I love none.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“A dear happiness to women! They would else have been troubled by a pernicious suitor.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Y/N exclaimed, standing up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humor for that.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turned her head, directing the next line at him from over her shoulder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“God keep your Ladyship still in that mind!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Charlie threw his hands up, moving downstage and away so they mirrored each other. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“So some gentleman or other shall ‘scape a predestinate scratched face.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N closed the distance between them, getting in his face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Scratching could not make it worse, and ‘twere such a face as yours were.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Charlie held her gaze, smirking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He held up his hand, tracing a finger across her jawline. Despite the heat of the stage lights, Y/N felt a shiver travel down her spine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way, in God’s name! I have done.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie dropped his hand, but he didn’t move away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You always end with the jade’s trick. I know you of old.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Y/N said softly, the venom gone from her voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence descended as they stood there, inches apart. Y/N felt his chest brush against hers with every breath he took. She couldn’t manage to tear her gaze away from his. His amber eyes flicked down to her lips for a moment before tracking back up. Anticipation swirled inside, bolting her in place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a loud whir, the air conditioning switched on overhead, breaking the trance. Charlie stepped back, clearing his throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, uh,” He swapped his copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Much Ado </span>
  </em>
  <span>for the copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seasons</span>
  </em>
  <span> she’d left on the table. “That was good.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N swallowed, feeling too warm all of a sudden. She took a deep breath, trying to get her heart beat back under control. Charlie turned back, opening his mouth to say something when his phone began to buzz. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the pizza.” Charlie hopped back down off the stage. “Be right back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He disappeared into the front lobby, only gone for a few minutes. Charlie returned with a big box and an even bigger smile. They decided to sit on the edge of the stage while they ate. Neither wanted to risk getting grease stains on the upholstery, thus incurring the wrath of Krista. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the most part, Charlie fit the model of a distinguished director. He was clearly brilliant, but he was also personable, creative, and kind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But as Y/N quickly realized, however, he ate like a wild animal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hide the amused smile spreading across her face as he wolfed down his pizza. Charlie met her gaze, a confused grin creating smile lines around his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Y/N shook her head. “I like the way you eat. That–mmm, that sounded weird.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie laughed–a real, head-thrown back kind of laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just mean it’s endearing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you’re the first to call it that. The word that usually comes to mind is disgusting.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t say it wasn’t also disgusting.” Y/N laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fair enough.” Charlie took a sip from his plastic soda cup. “It’s just one of those habits from when I was younger that I never seemed to shake.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I still bite my nails when I’m really stressed out. It drove my mom nuts but she never managed to get me to quit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re quite the pair, huh?” Charlie chuckled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A content silence stretched between them. Y/N fiddled with a napkin, twisting it between her hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, I’m sorry for how weird I’ve been lately. I’ll get the hang of it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, no.” He shook his head, brow furrowed. “You don’t have to apologize.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie paused, looking at the empty stage for a moment before turning back. He ran a hand through his hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> owe </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> an apology. I was...I know I kind of pushed you into this and I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but he spoke faster. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That being said, I still firmly believe you’re the best choice for the part. You’ve got it. I can see it. What you just did up there was amazing...you just have to loosen up a bit. ” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Y/N looked away, unsure what to do with the compliment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re kind of making me want to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>Much Ado </span>
  </em>
  <span>now…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y/N smiled, taking another bite of pizza. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I’m just–” Charlie faltered, considering how to put the words together. “What changed? You were so natural just now. Is...am I putting pressure on you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” Y/N reached out, putting her hand on his knee. “No, you’re not doing anything wrong. It’s probably all me. Actually, it’s definitely all me. I...I can’t help but feel like a fraud. I quit acting because I wasn’t good enough. And I’m really grateful to you for wanting me to be involved in this, but I feel like I’m simultaneously the one who had no idea what she’s doing, but also that I should know everything because I wrote the damn thing. I don’t know. I just don’t want to be the reason the show sucks. You don’t deserve that. Especially not after you went out on a limb to cast me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie set his hand over hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“First of all, I want to get this clear for the last time. I didn’t go out on a limb to cast you. I didn’t do it out of courtesy. I picked you because you’re the best for the part, pure and simple. Okay?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Okay.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Second of all, you’re most definitely not a fraud. I know saying so isn’t going to make you feel instantly better or anything like that, but trust me when I tell you you are far from being unprepared for this part. If anything, you’re one of the most prepared. I can see the thought and instinct in your work. You’re an incredibly generous performer, Y/N.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie squeezed her hand. Y/N smiled softly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Y/N eyed him over the top of her own cup of soda, “Do you have a favorite play?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Seasons.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Charlie spoke with zero hesitation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Liar.” Y/N pointed an accusatory finger. “I believed everything else you said up until that point.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m serious. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Cherry Orchard</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a close second, though.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, well, that makes it all better.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They talked for a while longer, getting back into the easy rhythm they’d found that first afternoon in the cafe. She wanted to stay and laugh with him all night, but after a while Y/N started to yawn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie checked his watch. “It’s getting late…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And we both have work tomorrow.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They cleaned up together, clearing the stage again and throwing away the remnants of dinner. Charlie left the ghost light on and flicked off the house lights as they made their way back to the lobby. He held the front door for her as they stepped out into the warm LA night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was this...did this help?” Charlie asked, adjusting the bag on his shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It did.” Y/N smiled. “You didn’t have to do this, Charlie, but you did. Thank you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was my pleasure, really.” He matched her smile. “Would, um– we didn’t really workshop much from the actual show. Would you want to do this again?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yes. That sounds great.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great, okay.” Charlie nodded. “Same time next week?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll look forward to it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too.” Charlie agreed. “Good night, Y/N.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See you tomorrow, Charlie.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They parted ways, heading to their respective homes. The whole drive back, Y/N couldn’t stop smiling. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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